


Find Your Light

by ratherastory



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 18:56:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherastory/pseuds/ratherastory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/"></a><b>spn_reversebang</b>. Jared is the long-suffering but well-loved stage manager of the Wilmington Shakespeare festival. He's in charge of running everything behind the scenes for this year's flagship production of Macbeth, his job made only harder by the anxiety-ridden director and the eccentric cast, including theatre superstar Jeffrey Dean Morgan and newly arrived action movie sensation, Jensen Ackles, who is proving to be much more difficult to work with than anyone expected. Jared manages to juggle his responsibilities well enough… right up until the infamous curse of "The Scottish Play" takes effect, and then it's down to him and Jensen to ensure that the play must go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Your Light

**Author's Note:**

> Neurotic Author's Note #1: I would like to thank the Academy… no, wait. ;) Okay, seriously, a big thank you to [](http://cybel.livejournal.com/profile)[**cybel**](http://cybel.livejournal.com/) , whose beautiful artwork leaped off the page at me right away and had me absolutely scrambling to make sure I got it. I only hope I have done it justice in the slightest. Also to my rockstar beta [](http://rainylemons.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rainylemons.livejournal.com/)**rainylemons** , who agreed to beta this on a DIME, I am not even kidding you. All remaining mistakes, naturally, are mine.  
> Neurotic Author's Note #2: A big thank you also to the Reverse Big Bang Mods. It takes a truly heroic kind of insanity to run a project as big as this one, to herd all the cats and hope they end up in the right place.  
> Neurotic Author's Note #3: This kept trying to become a Slings & Arrows AU, and although I battled the impulse heroically, I'm not sure I succeeded entirely. I have next to no knowledge of the theatre world, so if any of this stuff seems like it's entirely made up, that's because it is. Also, Jared and Jensen stubbornly refused to have sex at all for the longest time. I had to bribe them with Shakespeare. IDEK. So, yeah, this is basically the floofiest thing ever, and I hope you can forgive me and just try to enjoy the fluff for what it is. :)  
> Neurotic Author's Note #4: All the quotes in the text are from Shakespeare's **Macbeth** , for the record.

[ ](http://cybel.livejournal.com/84613.html)

**Act I, scene 1**

"You know, for a publicity stunt, our Banquo's actually not bad," Jenny Wong commented from where she was leaning over Jared's shoulder, reading the notes he was scribbling in the margins of his script. "Your handwriting is terrible, Padalecki. You should be ashamed."

Jared shrugged, unconcerned. "No one has to read my notes except me. You're just being nosy. And I think Jensen's more than not bad. He's doing a good job, considering he's got almost no theatre background to speak of."

Jenny leaned further over his shoulder, which was quite the feat for a woman who stood just shy of five foot one, especially given how tall Jared himself was. Standing up she barely reached his sternum, a fact which never failed to annoy her when he pointed it out. Granted, he generally made a point of resting his elbow on top of her head, which probably had a lot to do with why it annoyed her, but he reasoned it was all in good fun. She had yet to kick him in the nuts, so he was calling it a win.

"You noted the blocking wrong," she tapped his script with the tip of her pen. "It's stage left, not right. You're the worst stage manager ever and they should fire you. And admit it, your opinion has nothing to do with whether or not Banquo can act, you just think the guy's hot. Though I will agree that he fills out that pair of tights beautifully. I bet you could bounce a nickel off that ass. I bet you double that you've got a great mental image of bouncing a nickel off his ass now. Go on, tell me I'm wrong, I dare you," she leered.

Jared snorted, letting her know exactly what he thought of her lecherous speculations, but his gaze had already wandered from his script to the aforementioned Banquo—sorry, Jensen Ackles, famous movie star—who was in the midst of working out the blocking of the banquet scene. Phil Sgriccia, the director, was pulling an elaborate now-you-see-him-now-you-don't trick with Banquo's ghost, which meant that Jensen had to duck into a specially designed trap door set up under the banquet table, and the pull himself back up again without the audience being any the wiser. It was a brilliant idea, even Jared had to concede it—and he'd put up with any number of wacky directors over the years—provided they could pull it off. It was a task that was physically demanding just by itself, let alone having to do it without showing the audience your hand and having to do it while wearing a costume with a big, flowing cape.

Luckily for Phil, while Jensen might not have a theatre background, he definitely had the training for this kind of thing. Jared would never be able to live it down if word got out about just how big a fan he was of all of Jensen's movies, but he knew for a fact that Jensen had always insisted on doing as many of his own stunts as possible, except for when the scene was so complex or difficult that it really did take a professional stunt double to do it for him. It was one of the many things Jared admired about him. Say what you like about him, the man took his work seriously, and appeared to enjoy it a lot, too. It was too bad he was kind of a fussy prima donna about everything else, because Jared had been secretly looking forward to working with him when he'd first found out who the company had lined up for Banquo. Unfortunately, Jensen all but ignored everyone except for Phil and the other actors, showed the most blatant disregard for all the union rules, and generally seemed to enjoy making life difficult for the tech crews when they were trying to work, getting in their way and making ridiculous requests. Jared tried to be philosophical about it: no one was perfect, and he'd worked with worse in the past.

Still, it didn't hurt that Jenny was absolutely right when it came to Jensen's appearance. The words 'greek god' sprang to mind when describing his physique: he was well-built and almost as tall as Jared, well over six feet anyway, with sandy brown hair and beautiful blue-green eyes framed with dark lashes that had given him an almost feminine air when he was younger, together with a smattering of freckles over pale skin. It was sinful, really, how good-looking he was, Jared thought with a sigh.

Jenny nudged him in the ribs. "Earth to Jared, you're supposed to be taking notes, not ogling the talent. Besides, you don't want to tangle with movie stars trying to add street cred to their resumes by coming and consorting the _hoi polloi_."

He managed to tear his eyes away from where Jensen was crouched down on the stage by the trap door, even though he was wearing a pair of faded, ripped jeans that did only good things for the ass Jenny had been admiring only a moment before, and glanced over to where Phil looked like he was seconds away from having a stroke.

"Please try not to jostle the chairs, Jensen! Remember, you're a ghost, you're supposed to be appearing and disappearing without so much as a whisper! Ghostly, is what we're aiming for, ghostly!"

"Ghostly. Right. Got it," Jensen pulled himself back up onto the stage, and Jared didn't bother pretending he wasn't staring as the muscles in his arms and back flexed with the movement.

"What's his problem, anyway?" Jenny muttered, and Jared shrugged.

There was always something with actors, in his experience. Petty jealousies, or they didn't have the proper number of lemon slices in their tea, or the temperature outside was off by more than two degrees from the forecast. The whole profession was filled with sensitive snowflakes whose sensibilities were more delicate than crystal. He opened his mouth to answer, but before he'd even started to form the words there was a resounding crash from the stage, accompanied by a few startled shrieks from the wings—probably Penny and Lulu, the girls from wardrobe, who were constantly hanging around even when they weren't meant to be near the stage. Jared looked up, startled, in time to see Jensen picking himself up from amidst a pile of chairs, looking a little sheepish.

"Sorry, sorry, my bad. Uh, can we try that again?"

Jared saw Phil—never a patient man at the best of times—deliberately shove his hands into his jeans pockets. "No, no, it's fine, it's fine. I think we can move on from the blocking, yes? You got the idea, you can practice it another time. Is Bella here? I think we need to work on the sleepwalking scene a bit more, yes? Bella?" he glanced around, as though Lady Macbeth herself might spontaneously materialize on the stage.

Jared cleared his throat pointedly. "Phil, it's five o'clock. If you have blocking notes, we can go over them, but I really don't want to have to remind you about union rules…"

Phil's hands came out of his pockets and flew up to his head to tear distractedly at his hair. "Oh, fine! Doesn't matter that we're only a week away from previews, so long as everyone gets to go home on time!" he exclaimed, flinging one hand out to the side while the other kept pulling at his hair. If there was any justice in the world, Jared thought, he'd be bald by the end of the season.

"I don't make the rules, you know that," he said mildly. "Besides, you look like you could use a drink by now. Uh, Jen—Mr. Ackles, you can leave those," he added, waving at Jensen, who was trying to straighten all the chairs he'd knocked over in his latest attempt to pull himself out through the trap door, and failing a little miserably. For a guy who was coordinated enough to do his own stunts, he was surprisingly bad at trying to put a couple of chairs upright, kept knocking them into each other and letting them fall back to the stage again.

Jensen immediately stopped what he was doing and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Oh, uh, okay. I just—I figured if I knocked them over…"

Jared wasn't given the opportunity to answer before none other than Bella Beauregard swept onstage. How she managed to sweep while wearing a black power suit over a powder blue blouse was beyond Jared, but then again he wasn't an actor, just a stage manager. Bella was teetering on the verge of being too old to be cast in any of the ingénue parts anymore, though she went to great lengths to keep herself looking as young as possible. Jared was pretty sure that if she could afford to have work done on her salary, she would, but instead she seemed to spend the equivalent of the gross national product a some small countries on cosmetics, wrinkle creams and red hair dye, not to mention all the hairspray she must go through to keep her hair looking quite that poofy. Even pushing forty, though, she was an attractive woman, and years of playing powerful queens on the stage had taken their toll. Sometimes Jared wondered if she wasn't secretly convinced that she was, in fact, a queen, and no one else had realized it yet. Now she struck a coquettish pose in front of Jensen, head tilted to one side, one bright red curl trailing artistically down the side of her face.

"Oh, Jensen, darling, no! Don't mess about with the props, that's why we have an entire props department. Well, we have Jasmine and Pete, anyway, and that's as good as an entire props department. You don't want to rob them of their livelihood, do you?" she turned, gesturing elegantly with one perfectly manicured hand, and made eye contact with Jenny, who had been trying to hide behind Jared's shoulders. "Jenny, my sweet, I'm going to need a green tea, please. No sugar, and make sure the water is scalding but not boiling before they pour it into the cup."

"A tea?" Jenny sputtered from just behind him, and Jared smothered the grin that was threatening to spread over his face.

"A large tea," Bella clarified. "Scalding, not boiling. And do hurry up, my sweet, or we'll be done before you get back!"

"God, I hate her so much," Jenny muttered, pulling a dollar out of her pocket. "If she dies, you'll know I laced her damned tea with cyanide," she added, and stomped off up the center aisle and out through the main doors toward the lobby.

Jared chuckled quietly, then immediately stopped when he caught sight of Jensen staring at him, expression shuttered. Great. He sighed inwardly, and made a show of jotting down more notes. Just what he needed, another reason for Jensen to dislike him. Actors were all too quick to jump to conclusions, they'd gotten off to a rocky start on the very first day, when they were just doing a cold read of the play. Jensen seemed to have a chip on his shoulder the size of a small tropical island, probably due to the fact that he had no theatre background to speak of and felt threatened by every other person on the set, technical personnel included. It was exhausting, to be honest.

Jared was accustomed to being universally liked. In fact, he relied on his reputation as an affable, easygoing guy in order to keep all of the productions he worked on running as smoothly as possible. He'd worked in the industry, and at the Wilmington festival in particular, long enough that he knew most of the regular players, and knew how to handle all the various prickly personalities that his job threw at him. He'd seen actors and directors come and go over the years, as well as managers and designers and technical crew, and even though he wasn't exactly old—not at just shy of thirty—he'd been here longer than a lot of these people. Bella was one of the few who'd been around for longer than him, and while Phil was appointed creative director of the whole festival four years ago he'd also been around forever. Apart from them, though, Jared was the guy everybody knew would be there year in and year out, the go-to guy if you needed a problem fixed. So it was more than a little bruising to the ego to be treated as if he was somehow public enemy number one.

Jenny came back, balancing a tray with three steaming cardboard Tim Horton's cups in one hand and a paper bag in the other. She dropped the bag in Jared's lap, handed him the tray and plucked out one of the cups, which she then proceeded to hand to Bella with an ironic flourish.

"There's no need for sarcasm, sweetie, I don't think a cup of tea was an unreasonable request," Bella accepted the cup nonetheless, ripped off the tab on the lid and sipped at it gingerly. "They never scald the water properly," she grimaced. "Not your fault, sweetie, no one in this country knows how to make a proper cup of tea."

Jenny managed to wait until she had her back turned to Bella before rolling her eyes. She dropped into the seat next to Jared's and took one of the two remaining cups. "Got you a hot chocolate and a Boston creme doughnut. You can thank me by taking me out for a real drink as soon as they all realize you called it about twenty minutes ago."

"You got it. Beer, or something harder?"

"Definitely something harder."

**Act I, scene 2**

O'Halloran's had been the place to go for years if you were involved with the Wilmington Shakespeare Festival. It had belonged to the same family for three generations, and there were years of theatre history that had been hung on its walls, spilled on its tables and scuffed into its floors. What Jared particularly appreciated, though, was that unlike other places he'd heard about, here there was no distinction drawn between actors and crew—everybody knew everybody, and no one was excluded.

Jenny was slumped against him, well into her third boilermaker. Jared wondered if Bella hadn't been driving her crazier than usual today without his noticing. He'd have to pay more attention tomorrow, just to make sure Jenny didn't end up having a nervous breakdown or, worse, stab Bella through the eye with a pen. Across the room, hunched over a table as though he was trying to fuse with the wooden bench he was sitting on, Jensen was nursing what looked like a bottle of Molson Ex, and Jared couldn't help but lose a little bit of respect for him for that. If you were going to go to an Irish pub for drinks, you may as well cough up for the good stuff. He was deep in conversation with Penny, who was playing the first witch, and whatever she was telling him, he was doing a good job of pretending to find it fascinating.

"I wonder where Jeffrey is?" Jenny slurred, listing further against him. "Thought he'd be here by now."

Just then the front door swung open and what seemed like a hundred aspiring young actors flocked in, chattering excitedly and glancing eagerly over their shoulders. They were followed by the sound of a booming voice in mid-sentence.

"—and so then Sir Henry replied, 'Madam, if that had truly been the case, I would have pushed you myself!'"

There was a burst of laughter and scattered applause, and Jared grinned and rolled his eyes. "I guess that answers your question," he said to Jenny, as none other than Jeffrey Dean Morgan swept into the bar, surrounded by his usual retinue of true admirers, starving actors and sycophants.

For all that Banquo was being played by a bona fide movie star, it was Jeffrey who was headlining the show. Jared hadn't had the opportunity to work with him in years, certainly not since he'd become famous, but the man was a titan in the Shakespearian world, even though he was still relatively young. He’d earned critical acclaim for his Henry V and his Caesar, but it had been his three spectacular runs as Macbeth that had truly made him a household name. Of course, that didn't prevent him from being a bombastic pain in Jared's ass, but there was no denying the man's talent and sheer charisma.

There wasn't much room to speak, let alone think after that. Jeffrey seemed to exist in a state of perpetual performance, and his entourage was only too happy to follow his example, taking up as much space and making as much noise as possible.

"Jensen!" Jeffrey boomed all of a sudden, so close to Jared's ear that Jared flinched away from the unexpected noise. "What are you doing, hiding by yourself in that corner! Come over here, you bastard, I won't tolerate false humility in my bar!"

Jensen's cheeks heated up visibly, but he shot Penny an apologetic and slightly sheepish look before grabbing his beer bottle and shuffling over to where Jeffrey was holding court at the head of the biggest table in the pub, which had mysteriously cleared itself for him. Jared would give a lot to know how he managed that neat little trick. It would be nice to always have an available seat at the pub whenever he walked in. Jensen obediently pulled up a chair when Jeffrey gestured him closer, and Jared was pretty sure not many people noticed when he flinched slightly as Jeffrey slung an arm around his shoulders.

"In case you've been living under a rock for the past five years, this is Jensen Ackles, action star extraordinaire!" Jeffrey declared, waving expansively with his free arm. "Now, some of you might not know this, but Jensen and I started out in the film industry together, many years ago. I was looking for a change of scenery from the theatre—though time has, of course, since cured me of my folly," he paused for the obligatory burst of laughter from his audience, "and he was but a young pup, still wet behind the ears and hungry for glory. Isn't that right, Jensen?"

Jared didn't think it was possible for Jensen's face to get any redder, but somehow he did manage to blush harder. "Uh, right."

"I can't say I was too disappointed to come back to my first love. There's nothing like the immediacy of the theatre, the knowledge that every single performance has to be top notch," Jeffrey was warming to his subject, helped by a few generous swallows of alcohol. "Film was all very well and good, but there's something to be said for the _immediacy_ of performing on stage, with your audience right there, expecting you to be at your best. There are no second takes in real life, so why should acting be any different? Isn't that right, Jensen?"

Jensen shrugged, but the look on his face was profoundly unhappy. "I suppose you'd know."

"Oh, come now, don't be like that!" Jeffrey clapped him on the shoulder. "We're all among friends, here. There’s nothing like the theatre to make everyone family. Come, have another drink! Not that terrible swill you've been drinking, either. You've been spending far too much time in the States, my boy!"

Jeffrey motioned imperiously toward the table, and somehow a pint materialized in front of Jensen, who stared at it as though it contained hemlock instead of Kielkenny. Still, Jared had to give him credit for how he swiftly took advantage of a moment in which Jeffrey's attention was elsewhere to creep away—taking his drink with him—in order to escape the limelight that always seemed to follow Jeffrey around. He ended up claiming one of the few remaining empty seats right by Jared, who decided now was as good a time as any to at least try to be friendly.

"He's something, isn't he?"

Jensen started as though Jared had just stabbed him in the kidney with a rusty knife rather than ask a simple question. "What? Oh, yeah."

So much for breaking the ice. "I didn't know you guys were friends from before. I mean, I knew you knew each other, but I didn't realize you knew him from his movie days."

"What few there were," Jensen said tersely.

Jared ignored the barb and took a sip of his beer. "Well, I for one am really glad he decided to stick with the theatre. I was lucky enough to see his Henry V a few years ago, and I can't imagine anyone else in the role now. He's brought a tremendous amount of talent and vision to the stage—revolutionized the way people see the characters, in some ways. As much as I like the movies, I can't help but think it would have been a loss to the theatre."

To his surprise, Jensen snorted quietly. "The theatre is pretty much the only place that would put up with him," he muttered into his beer.

It was impossible to tell if he'd intended for Jared to hear the remark or not, but it hardly seemed to matter. "Just what the hell is your problem?" he snapped. "You think maybe the theatre's beneath you, or something?"

Jensen's gaze slid to him, then away again. "I'm not discussing this with you. You're crew," he said, as though that explained everything, and maybe it did.

"Oh, I see," Jared rejoined, maybe a little more hotly than he intended. "It's not just the theatre, it's everyone involved. Don't like the theatre crew mingling with the more august company of actors? Tell me, did you learn to treat people you consider unimportant like shit after you got into the movie industry, or does that come to you naturally?"

"That's not what I said," Jensen protested, looking around a little anxiously. They had attracted the attention of more than a few people, Jenny included, and it was impossible to ignore the glares being directed at Jensen now. "I don't have to justify myself to you."

"No, you don't, but it would help if you were at least civil," Jared said. "Don't worry, though," he added with a sneer, "I won't trouble you any further by talking to you."

Jenny reached up to grab at his sleeve, but he waved her down. It was either leave now, or punch this guy in the face, and it wouldn't look good for the production if Banquo had a black eye.

**Act II, scene 1**

"Oh, this isn't awkward at all," Jenny commented the next day from where she was sitting behind Jared, taking notes in her ever-present notebook. "Is it me, or is everyone suddenly rooting for Macbeth to have Banquo killed?"

Jensen was on stage alongside Peter Flannigan, who was playing Fleance, holding aloft a prop torch, while the two unnamed murderers lurked behind imaginary scenery. "It will be rain tonight," he said, just as one of his would be assailants sprang to his feet.

"Let it come down," the murderer cried, and he and his partner both fell on Jensen with a great deal more gusto than even Jared would have thought possible.

Jensen fell back hard, landing on his elbow with a crack that made even Jared wince when he heard it, but he soldiered on gamely, letting the torch drop from his hand. "O, treachery! Fly, good Fleance, fly, fly, fly! Thou mayst revenge. O slave!"

The murderers conferred for a moment, then exited amidst applause from everyone present, while Jensen picked himself up and dusted himself off, flexing his elbow gingerly. His cheeks were flushed bright red, as though he knew full well that people weren't applauding his performance. Served him right, Jared thought acidly, and joined in with a few claps of his own before jotting down a few more notes on the lighting they'd need to make sure the murderers were properly cloaked in darkness.

"Jesus Christ," Phil sputtered, pulling at his hair. "You okay, Jensen?"

"Fine," Jensen was prodding gently at his elbow, though, looking pained.

"Go see if there's any ice left somewhere. I need you in shape for this! And next time, Bill, go easier than that! When I said 'make it good,' I didn't mean for you to actually murder him!"

"Yeah, that was kind of bloodthirsty," Jenny opined, and Jared couldn't help but agree with her.

"It would be just our luck if he actually got injured during his death scene," he muttered.

"Ooh," Jenny waggled the fingers of both hands in a gesture meant, Jared assumed, to indicate how 'woo-woo' she found his statement. "You're not referring to… the _curse_ , are you?"

Jared snorted, just as Jensen turned on his heel and stalked offstage, presumably in search of ice. "Uh, no. There's no such thing."

"I wouldn't be too sure, dear boy," Jeffrey Dean Morgan strode onto the stage, Macbeth's cloak hanging regally from his soldiers. "This will be my fourth time performing _The Scottish Play_ ," he proclaimed, and Jared could hear him capitalizing all the words and italicizing them for effect as surely as if he was reading them on paper, "and it never failed that some form of tragedy plagued our run. In the first the director's wife fell gravely ill. The second time there was a terrible fire in one of the company's buildings, and the third time, well… Lady Macbeth and Banquo carried on a torrid love affair behind the scenes until the lady's jealous husband found out and attempted to murder poor Banquo prematurely, right at the beginning of the first act. Leapt onstage with a loaded forty-five, which was positively anachronistic in terms of the production. Almost ruined everything. I do believe he's been committed, now," he concluded thoughtfully.

Jared rolled his eyes. "I don't doubt that, but this is the theatre, Jeffrey. There's constantly drama happening everywhere—onstage as well as off," he added with a grin, and was rewarded with a guffaw from Jeffrey. "It's just coincidence that people then ascribe to the curse."

"Oh, I realize there may be a certain amount of _post hoc ergo propter hoc_ ," Jeffrey waved a hand dismissively, "but you can't deny the timing. So many more accidents and tragedies seem to befall our poor theatre companies whenever _this play_ is being performed."

"You mean Macbeth?" Jared asked innocently, and watched as Jeffrey's expression turned suddenly thunderous.

"It might be a joke to you, Jared," he snapped, "but I will kindly thank you to respect the wishes of those who take the curse seriously."

It was pretty easy to figure out he'd overstepped his bounds. Actors were a finicky, highly-strung bunch, he reminded himself, and they were liable to work themselves into a frenzy over what he'd just said and end up causing another 'tragedy' to confirm that there really was a curse. He held up both hands in surrender.

"Okay, sorry. I promise I won't do it again."

"Can we please get back to business?" Phil yelled, though mercifully he refrained from yanking his hair out by the roots this time. "We can't do the banquet scene until Jensen's back, so… Jared? What've we got?"

Jared obediently flipped through his script. "You had some notes on the blocking for the fight with Macduff," he suggested, and Phil nodded, while Jeffrey beamed.

"Before my body I throw my warlike shield: lay on, Macduff; and damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'" he declaimed, and Jared barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, okay, great," Phil flapped a hand at him. "Now how about we actually wait for Macduff to get here and we go from a logical starting point?"

"Death waits for no man," Jeffrey said self-importantly, "but I am happy to do so."

"Spare me," Jenny muttered under her breath, and Jared couldn't help but agree.

 

 

**Act II, scene 2**

The week before previews was always a mad rush. Jared was used to going on about three or four hours of sleep a night, sometimes less. There were sets to finish up, the costuming department to shepherd, and the usual last-minute panic about lighting that was impossible to manage. As much as it was a pain in the ass, Jared always thrived on the craziness that came with solving all the problems that people came running to him with.

Still, that didn't mean that it wasn't a frustrating, maddening experience, too. Jenny was looking increasingly frazzled as time went by, muttering barely veiled death threats against Bella Beauregard under her breath as she scurried to and fro with cups of tea and endless bags of biscotti. Bella and Jeffrey were, as far as Jared could tell, having an unofficial contest to see who could chew up the most scenery between them, and right now they were neck and neck. The crew had a betting pool going for how long it would take one of them to try strangling the other on stage, and another betting pool on whether Jensen would have a nervous breakdown before or after previews, or whether he'd wait for opening night to melt down and thus ruin the whole production. It was a bit mean-spirited, and Jared had done his best to discourage it, but even he couldn't help but agree that the closer they got to actually having to be on stage, the more Jensen was screwing things up. He'd forget his lines, miss his cues, and his blocking was a disaster, to the point where Phil spent most of their time together yelling at him, which probably didn't help.

In light of that, it probably shouldn't have come as much of a surprise to Jared to find Jensen by himself on the stage long after everyone else had gone home, carefully setting up the table and chair for the banquet scene above the trap door on the stage. He paced around the table, lips moving as though he was reciting something under his breath, and Jared realized he must be rehearsing his lines, even if he didn't actually say anything in this scene. It was Banquo's last scene, though, and the most difficult one from a physical standpoint that Jensen would have to do. For a few minutes Jared just stood there, watching as Jensen went through the whole scene, clearly reciting the lines in his head in order to get his cues right.

He pulled himself up and out of the trapdoor, sliding into his chair at the table seemingly effortlessly, the muscles in his arms and back rippling under the white t-shirt he was wearing. He paused, eyes closed, then pushed off from the chair and slid back down, all but disappearing from view. When the tablecloth was actually on the table, he'd be completely invisible, Jared thought admiringly. So long as he didn't actually get tangled up in it the way he had before. Jensen went through the motions again, but this time his foot caught against the leg of one of the chairs, making it scrape against the floor.

"Shit!" Jensen dropped to the floor and let his head drop into his hands, elbows resting on his knees.

Stepping onto the stage behind him, Jared cleared his throat. "Everyone's been dismissed for the day, you know. You don't get extra credit for staying late."

Jensen started as though Jared had just jabbed him with a cattle prod. "Oh my God," he let out a nervous laugh, shoulders relaxing slightly. "I didn't think anyone was still here."

"Stage manager, here," Jared shrugged. "First on the field, last off. You should go home, get some sleep. You won't do anyone any good if you're exhausted."

Jensen snorted. "I won't do anyone any good if I can't get my scenes right," he said, and there was no mistaking the bitterness in his tone. "I know about the betting pool," he added, in a sudden burst of candour. "Everyone's just waiting for me to fail, and I'm beginning to think they're right."

Jared shrugged at that. There was no reason to deny it at this point. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything!" Jensen snapped, scrambling to his feet. "I'm not some delicate wilting fucking flower, here. I know what I'm doing, even if none of you seem to think so."

Jared sighed, and looked longingly toward the door. There was no reason for him to stay here, beyond that it always seemed to fall to him to talk actors off of various ledges. He was glad he hadn't had to do it with Jeffrey or Bella, but he'd already had more than enough heart to hearts to last him a lifetime this season, and the idea of trying to hold the hand of someone who, as far as he could tell, despised everything about the theatre, was pretty far down on the list of things he'd rather be doing this evening.

"Look, if you don't want to fail, then don't. You know your lines, you know your blocking, and Phil's given you enough notes to fill your own encyclopedia."

"So what date are you down for?"

"Excuse me?"

"In the pool. What date are you down for? I'm curious if you think I'm going to lose my shit before or after performances start," Jensen said nastily, and Jared felt the last thread of his temper snap.

"Oh, fuck you," he snapped, deliberately stepping into Jensen's personal space and relishing the way Jensen instinctively took a step back. "Maybe if you didn't make it obvious that you think the theatre is beneath you, people wouldn't be rooting for you to fail!"

Jensen was staring at him open-mouthed. "Where the hell do you people get this stuff?" he threw up his hands in a gesture of incomprehension. "I've done nothing but work my ass off for this production, and all I get is grief. The way I see it, if you have an inferiority complex about the movies, it shouldn't be my problem."

"Not your—look," Jared floundered for a moment, because this wasn't the way he'd envisioned this conversation going, "you can't expect anyone in this company to put up with your comments about the theatre being a refuge for failed actors, or with the way you treat the crew like they're second-class citizens. Maybe that's how it works in the movies, but around here the crew are part of the family. You can't shit on us and then expect everyone to fall all over themselves for you just because you make more money in one year than the rest of us put together!"

To his surprise, Jensen visibly deflated at that. "Is that what you all really think?" he asked. He looked hurt, of all unlikely things, and damned if it didn't make Jared spontaneously want to drop everything and maybe give him a hug, in spite of everything he'd said. "Because it's not true."

"If you don't think the theatre is second-rate, you're doing a shitty job of showing it," Jared managed, with an effort, to make his tone gentler. "First off, maybe you should try avoiding statements about how the theatre is the only place that will 'put up' with certain kinds of actors. Or telling people you won't talk to them because they're _just crew_. People are liable to take it the wrong way. You follow me?"

Jensen scrubbed at his face with both hands in a gesture of frustration. "This is why I like having scripts," he complained. "At least then if I'm putting my foot in my mouth, I can argue that I'm just acting."

He looked so sheepish at that, that it actually startled a laugh out of Jared. "It can't possibly be that bad."

"You have no idea." Jensen admitted. "I suck at this, but at least in California no one expected me to talk to anyone except the director and maybe whoever I shared a scene with. Here… I don't know. Maybe it would be easier if I didn't have to deal with Jeffrey and his fucking insinuations all the time, because fuck knows he loves baiting me—and, wow, I am just dumping all this on you, and you totally didn't ask for that and you probably have shit to do, and I am really sorry—" Jensen backed up hurriedly, clearly looking for an escape route, until Jared put out a hand to stop him.

"Hey, no, it's fine. What are you talking about?"

Jensen flushed bright red. "I wasn't trying to advertise it, because frankly it's no one's business, but Jeff and I were, uh, involved, back in the day. When we were both trying to get into the movies. And I made it and he didn't, or at least that's how he sees it. I mean, sure, I keep getting picked for stuff, but he got to play these really interesting parts and mostly I get to run in and out of exploding buildings. Or sometimes an exploding boat, just to change things up," he shrugged, as though trying to brush off his own self-deprecating tone. "Except, I don't know, he keeps bringing it up, and I should have a thicker skin by now, but I don't, and I keep wanting to punch his lights out, which isn't exactly helping. And now I've over-shared even more," he winced. "Can I please go before I find new ways of humiliating myself?"

"And here you were doing such a good job of making me feel like an asshole for judging you based on appearances and preconceptions," Jared tried to keep his tone light, but Jensen flinched anyway. He took a deep breath, and forged ahead. "Let me buy you a drink? We can try to start over. Please?"

For a second Jensen hesitated, and Jared steeled himself for the rejection he knew was probably going to follow. But then Jensen ducked his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "I'd like that."

**Act II, scene 3**

Jensen, it turned out, really couldn't hold his liquor, so when he looked dangerously close to passing out right at the table after two beers and a shot, Jared took it upon himself to do the right thing and dragged him home to sleep it off. He was beginning to regret that decision now, though, because it meant he had to very nobly ignore the way Jensen had slung an arm over his shoulder and was pressed up far too close for comfort as they made their way home.

"You're really nice, you know?" he said, like it was some sort of huge confession. "I mean, like, really nice. Everybody loves you. Hell, _I_ love you and you think I'm a huge dick."

Jared rolled his eyes while trying to negotiate two hundred pounds of drunk actor and his house keys. "I don't think you're a huge dick."

"You did up until today. That's 'cause I suck at talking to people. Always have. That's why my Mom made me take acting classes, when I was a kid—it's 'cause I was shy. She thought it'd make me better. Guess I showed her!" Jensen crowed, then tripped over Jared's doorstep and only Jared's quick reflexes prevented him from breaking his face against the doorjamb.

"Wow, you are really uncoordinated when you're drunk," Jared commented mildly before bodily hauling him over to the sofa and dumping him there before tugging off his boots. "I'm getting you some water, and then you're going to sleep. Give me your clothes," he added, raising his face heavenwards to pray for strength.

"What?"

"Your clothes. I'll put them through the wash so that we can get back to work tomorrow without it looking like you're doing a walk of shame. I'll lend you a t-shirt and sweatpants for the night."

Jensen blinked owlishly at him, then obediently pulled his shirt over his head. Jared swallowed hard, and deliberately looked away when he tugged off his jeans, because goddamn was this unfair.

"We could," Jensen said suddenly.

"What?"

Jensen got up, a little unsteadily, holding his jeans and shirt bunched up in his hands, looking a bit like a kid who'd brought home something absolutely repulsive from the creek in the hopes of getting his mother's approval. He dropped the clothes at their feet, and moved closer to Jared, so close that Jared could feel the heat coming from his body. He pressed both hands to Jared's chest.

"I mean, you're pretty great, and you've changed your mind about my being a giant dick, and it looks like maybe you don't really mind that I used to be with Jeffrey—and I promise not to talk about that because it's weird—so, you know…"

Jared ducked away from Jensen just as he moved to try to kiss him. "Whoa! Okay, no. No, no. Sit back down."

Jensen's face crumpled a little. "You don't want to? You're not into guys? 'Cause I could have sworn…"

"No, I am." And Jared's dick very much wanted to, unfortunately. "I mean, yeah, no, I don't want to. Not like this, anyway. I like my hook-ups consensual and sober, thanks anyway. Go on, sit," he nudged Jensen back onto the sofa, noting with a little disappointment that despite what Jensen had said, he didn't really seem all that into the notion of their getting together. "I don't know what they teach you in Hollywood, but if someone offers you a couch here, that's all it means. You don't owe me anything."

"That's not—" Jensen started, but Jared didn't wait to hear the end of it.

Instead he picked up the discarded clothes and headed over to the tiny washer and dryer he kept in the kitchen and dropped them in with a scoop of detergent, then filled a glass with water at the sink. By the time he got back to the living room, Jensen had fallen asleep under the throw blanket he kept on the sofa. Jared sighed, left the glass of water on the coffee table, and headed to his own room Occasionally being a decent human being turned out to have some really annoying side effects, he decided as he lay awake in the dark, listening to the quiet hum of the washing machine, resigning himself to what promised to be a sleepless night.

Even more annoyingly, Jensen turned out to be one of those people who don't get hangovers after getting totally blitzed. He borrowed Jared's razor and used the spare toothbrush and sat in his newly washed clothes very sheepishly and very quietly at the kitchen table while Jared made coffee for them both.

"So, um, thank you," he ventured, after his first sip of coffee.

"No problem. Coffee's easy to make," Jared said lightly, and Jensen coloured. It was adorable, and Jared had to physically restrain himself from smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand, because it just figured that he would, yet again, start falling for someone who was not only out of his league, but was also uninterested.

"I meant for last night. I'm sorry if I made things weird for you. I just—I don't drink much, and definitely never when I'm working, but, you know, it was nice to be able to let go and not… anyway, you were really nice and I kind of made an ass of myself. So, you know, thank you, and I'm sorry?" he made the last sound like a question.

"It's fine. I just hope it was the booze that made you think I was expecting some form of repayment. You just looked like you were freaking out over previews, and I thought…" Jared shrugged. "Actually, I don't know what I thought."

"Wait, wait," Jensen was staring at him. "You thought that I was—really? You think that's the kind of person I am?" he asked, clearly affronted, and really, how the hell had this become about Jared being a bad person?

"What? No! That's not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean?" And suddenly their roles were reversed, Jensen pushing himself into Jared's personal space, so close that Jared could smell the coffee on his breath, except this time the edge of the counter was digging into Jared's back, and there was nowhere at all for him to go.

"How else was I supposed to interpret what you did? I mean, you come onto me when you're wasted and clearly not interested…"

"What made you think I wasn't interested?" Jensen said, his voice suddenly soft. Then, when he saw the look on Jared's face, he broke into a grin. "Lechery, sir, it provokes and unprovokes; it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance."

Jared shifted a little against the counter. "Um," he managed brightly.

"Therefore," Jensen continued, leaning forward just a fraction more, "much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and mars him; it sets him on and it takes him off; it persuades him, and disheartens him; makes him _stand to_ ," he paused to smooth a hand over Jared's chest, "and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep and, giving him the lie, leaves him."

There was only one good response to that. "I believe drink gave thee the lie last night."

"That it did, sir, I' the very throat o' me, but I requited him for his lie; and, I think, being too strong for him, though he took up my legs sometime, yet I made a shift to cast him."

Jared wasn't sure if he kissed Jensen first, or if Jensen kissed him, but right now he no longer cared. All he knew was that all his fantasies were nothing compared to having Jensen here in his kitchen, smelling faintly of coffee and the cheap soap Jared kept in his shower, pinning him against his counter. It was a gentle kiss, almost shy, nothing like how he'd expected it to go with a guy who was best known for movies in which he spent most of the time punching people and blowing things up before getting the girl. When they finally pulled apart, after what might have been a minute or an hour, Jared wasn't really sure, his expression was anxious, as though he expected Jared to deck him, or something.

"I—" he started, and got no further before Jared's cell phone went off on the counter, filling the room with the strains of Katy Perry's 'Hot and Cold.'

"Shit, it's Phil, I gotta get that," he apologized, lunging for the phone. "Don't go anywhere. Hello?" he managed not to drop the phone, holding Jensen's gaze with his own as though he could will him to stay put.

"Jared, thank God!" Phil sounded like he might be on the verge of tears, or about to pass out, or maybe both. "I tried you before but I think I got the number wrong, and Bella's having hysterics and I can't find Jensen and we're three days before previews and this is an absolute disaster!"

"Whoa, whoa, Phil, calm down!" Jared injected as much soothing undertones as he could into his voice. "Jensen's here, he crashed on my sofa, everything is fine. Whatever it is, I'm sure we can fix it," he said, hoping he sounded reassuring enough without being condescending. "Just tell me what's going on."

Phil's voice rose to a despairing wail. "Jeffrey Dean Morgan is dead!"

**Act III, scene 1**

Jeffrey, it turned out, had met a ignominious end in an incident involving the hotel pool, seven pool noodles woven into a makeshift raft, a blood alcohol content well over the legal limit, and a truly astounding number of Welsh corgis.

Bella continued to have hysterics for the better part of thirty-six hours. "It's the curse!" she moaned dramatically whenever Jared was in earshot. "It will get us all, in the end!"

He honestly couldn't tell if it was directed at him because he was the only one who'd dared say the name of the play aloud, or if she was simply trying to attract all the attention in the world. It might have been a bit of both.

The following days passed in a blur. For the rest of his life, Jared would be unable to say exactly what he did after the news of Jeffrey's death came out, except for the twelve hours he spent on the phone with the SPCA and a Welsh corgi rescue society that he hadn't even known existed before that day. Jenny, bless her soul, fielded the sudden influx of reporters and curious members of the public, while Phil managed to keep himself together enough to make sure all the other actors stayed as focused as possible. When the dust settled and time finally began to resume its normal course, the show was still scheduled to go on.

It was, Jared thought, a minor miracle, all things considered. He'd almost expected the run to be cancelled, except of course that Macbeth was the flagship production of their entire season, and there was no way to cancel it without bankrupting the whole damned festival. While everyone was still upset, and Bella and the Witches Three were all still prone to bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, the production was still on-course.

Jensen, though, was a wreck. There hadn't been any time to figure out what the kiss between them had meant, and neither one of them was thinking about that now, anyway, not with Jeffrey's untimely death looming over all of them all. Jensen in particular was taking it very badly, from a professional standpoint, and Jared was pretty sure he was about two seconds away from having a nervous breakdown. There was no way to put it delicately. Bad enough that he'd been losing his mind about being Banquo, now he was the understudy for a dead man, and that seemed to have rattled his already tenuous composure. He flubbed line after line, entrance after entrance, scene after scene until Phil had torn out chunks of his already thinning hair in frustration.

"For God's sake!" he yelled out from his seat in the tenth row after Jensen had missed the same cue for the fifth time. They'd already run late on this rehearsal, the costuming department was losing their minds trying to work in fittings for Jensen's costume, and everyone was ragged and on edge. "I just need you to enter stage right, stand by your mark and deliver your damned line! This isn't rocket science, Jensen. We are exactly one day before previews, and it's not like we can edit out your mistakes! This isn't the movies, there are no cuts or do-overs, do you understand?"

Jensen looked like he might be about to cry, but he forced himself to stand stock-still while the wardrobe girls fussed over him, trying to put together a last-minute costume for him in his new role. Jared's gut clenched in sympathy. "I understand."

Phil growled something unsympathetic under his breath, then blew out his cheeks with an exasperated sigh. "All right, everybody, I'm calling it. Go home, get some sleep, get back here tomorrow, bright and early. I expect everyone to know their lines, their cues and their blocking, got it?"

There was a murmured chorus of agreement, and slowly everyone began to trickle out through various doors, until no one was left but the skeleton crew needed to break down what equipment there was on stage. Jared made his rounds, clipboard in hand, checking off things on his to-do sheet until he was satisfied there was nothing left to do before the next morning. It was just past eleven, he realized, looking at his watch, which was actually relatively early for the last night of dress rehearsals. With this much chaos surrounding the production, he'd expected everyone to be here as late as possible.

Instead, though, he found Jensen alone, pacing miserably on the stage. It was an odd case of _déja vu_ , he thought. "Uh, hey."

Jensen started, then relaxed when he saw who it was. "Hi."

"I won't ask if you're okay, because, well," Jared gestured at him, and Jensen just looked sheepish.

"This is going to be a disaster," he proclaimed dolefully, cradling his head in his hands. "I just hope everyone who bought tickets did it so they could get extra details about the corgi incident, because at the rate I'm going the play we put on won't actually be Macbeth, it'll be all the other characters _except_ Macbeth, and people will be confused and wonder, 'why are all these people talking to empty space?'"

Jared hopped up onto the stage and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It can't possibly be that bad. I mean, come on, all you have to do is make it through the soliloquies, and you're golden."

"It's not the soliloquies that are the problem," Jensen lowered his voice, as though confessing a deep, dark secret. "Those I've got down pat. I could do them in my sleep. It's, you know, the rest."

"The rest?"

"I mean, I never really expected to go on as Macbeth, you know? I was more than happy being Banquo! I just had to make it halfway through the play and then die, and that was it. Now, though… God. So, yeah. You know, the rest of the lines? That part, I'm not as sure of."

Jared gaped at him. "You mean the part where you actually have to speak with other people?"

Jensen grimaced. "Exactly."

There was a moment of silence, while Jared let out a long breath. Then he tilted his head to the side, considering Jensen. "Come here," he commanded, and to his surprise, Jensen did exactly what he was told, letting Jared fold him into his arms and kiss him firmly. "That okay?"

"Better than," Jensen relaxed a little against him.

"Good. Because I have just had a genius idea to make sure you know all your lines by tomorrow."

"Am I going to regret this?"

Jared grinned. "Well, I know I won't."

**Act III, scene 2**

"Let's start simple," Jared crowded up against Jensen, taking full advantage of the fact that he had several inches and a good twenty pounds on him, pinning him to the wall and shoving a knee between Jensen's thighs. "Act one, scene five. For every scene you get perfectly right, you get a reward."

Jensen squirmed, but he didn't try to get away. "You expect me to concentrate on lines like this?" he asked, breath hot against Jared's face. "Seems counterproductive."

Jared grinned wickedly and leaned in to kiss Jensen until they were both breathless. "That's the genius of my plan. You get your lines right, we keep going. You make a mistake? I stop until you get it right."

"Fuck," Jensen breathed. "That's just cruel."

"Great Glamis!" Jared rejoined instead. "Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond this ignorant present, and I feel now the future in the instant."

Jensen made a sound that made Jared's dick give a very interested twitch, but he obediently slid both hands around Jared's waist, as though he was trying to anchor himself there. "My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight."

"And when goes hence?" Jared nipped lightly at Jensen's neck, enjoying the sharp inhale it provoked. Jensen bucked a little against his thigh, but to his credit managed his next line without hesitating.

"To-morrow, as he purposes."

"O, never shall sun that morrow see! Your face, my thane, is as a book where men may read strange matters: to beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your eye," Jared stroked Jensen's face, "your hand, your tongue," he paused long enough to kiss Jensen again, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth. "Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't. He that's coming must be provided for: and you shall put this night's great business into my dispatch; which shall to all our nights and days to come give solely sovereign sway and masterdom."

"We will speak further," Jensen squeaked, and while the tone wasn't exactly right, Jared figured it was a win.

"Beautiful," he whispered, popping the button on Jensen's jeans and easing down the zipper. "You're a natural," he added, fingers sliding past Jensen's boxer briefs to wrap around his dick. Jensen moaned quietly, head falling back with a painful sounding thud against the wall. "You ready for the next challenge?"

"Fuck."

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Jared grinned. "I'm going to assume you know your lines in the scenes with Banquo, so let's skip ahead. Act three, scene one, with the murderers," he began to stroke gently, just enough to feel Jensen's cock go from half-mast to fully erect in his hand.

"I hate you. You're really going to—oh God—make me recite an order to murder someone while you're doing that?"

"Yup. Get through the whole scene, I might even let you come."

"Might?" Jensen's eyes flew open, and he glared at Jared's unrepentant grin. Then his expression turned defiant, and it was _on_. "Was it not yesterday we spoke together?"

"It was, so please your highness." Jared tightened his grip ever so slightly, and Jensen shifted his weight, moving against him, never breaking eye contact.

"Well then, now have you consider'd of my speeches? Know that it was he, in the times past, which held you so under fortune; which you thought had been our innocent self: this I made good to you in our last conference, pass'd in probation with you how you were borne in hand, how cross'd, the instruments, who wrought with them, and all things else that might to half a soul and to a notion craz'd say, 'Thus did Banquo.'"

Okay, so Jared had totally underestimated this guy. He had nerves of steel, given the proper motivation. "You made it known to us," he prompted, pumping his hand slowly, watching as Jensen struggled to keep his eyes open and not just give in to the sensation.

"I did so, and went further, which is now our point of second meeting," Jensen clamped his teeth over his lip for a moment, fingers digging into the wall behind him. "Do you find your patience so predominant in your nature that you can let this go?"

It was definitely time to cheat. Jared shoved Jensen's pants roughly down over his hips, licked his lips hungrily as Jensen's cock came free from the confines of the material, the head purple and already beginning to leak. Jensen grunted softly, but didn't miss a beat.

"Are you so gospell'd to pray for this good man and for his issue, whose heavy hand hath bow'd you to the grave and beggar'd yours for ever?"

"We are men, my liege," Jared said, and dropped to his knees.

"Ay, in the catalogue ye go for men; as hounds and greyhounds, mongrels, spaniels, curs, shoughs, water-rugs and demi-wolves, are clept all by the name of dogs: the valued file distinguishes the swift, the slow, the subtle, the housekeeper, the hunter, every one according to the gift which bounteous nature hath in him closed; whereby he does receive particular addition from the bill that writes them all alike: and so of men."

Jensen faltered a little when Jared applied his tongue to the underside of his dick, but rallied after a moment.

"Now, if you have a station in the file, not i' the worst rank of manhood, say 't; and I will put that business in your bosoms, whose execution takes your enemy off, grapples you to the heart and love of us, who wear our health but sickly in his life,  
which in his death were perfect."

Jared tilted his head back, enjoying the view from where he was, and enjoying the slightly distressed sound Jensen made even more as he stopped what he was doing to deliver his line. "I am one, my liege, whom the vile blows and buffets of the world have so incensed that I am reckless what I do to spite the world. And I another," he picked up the lines of the second murderer, "so weary with disasters, tugg'd with fortune, that I would set my lie on any chance, to mend it, or be rid on't."

Jensen was panting now, one hand resting lightly on top of Jared's head, and Jared felt his fingers twitch, as though he was barely holding back from simply hauling Jared back down onto his dick. It seemed silly not to oblige him, and so Jared bent his head and applied himself enthusiastically to making Jensen come apart at the seams, enjoying the small, desperate noises he was making, shaking with the effort of staying upright. After a moment he pulled off with a wet pop, and Jensen mewled pathetically at the loss of contact.

"Your line," Jared prompted, and Jensen moaned, but gritted his teeth and carried on.

"Both of you know Banquo was your enemy."

"True, my lord."

"So is he mine; and in such bloody distance, that every minute of his being thrusts against my near'st of life: and though I could with barefaced power sweep him from my sight and bid my will avouch it, yet I must not, for certain friends that are both his and mine, whose loves I may not drop, but wail his fall who I myself struck down; and thence it is, that I to your assistance do make love, masking the business from the common eye for sundry weighty reasons. Jesus, Jared!"

Jensen bucked as Jared wrapped his lips around his cock again, the heel of one shoe scraping against the floor as his feet threatened to lose all purchase, and Jared laughed and licked him all the way from the root to the crown, reaching down to press the heel of his hand against his crotch. Coming in his pants like a teenager was not part of the plans tonight, regardless of the provocation.

"We shall, my lord, perform what you command us," he said, pulling away just far enough that he knew Jensen could still feel his breath on his glistening cock. "Though our lives—"

"Your spirits shine through you," Jensen interrupted, and Jared couldn't help but admire the perfection of his timing, even as he had to use both hands to pin Jensen's hips to the wall to keep him from simply fucking into his mouth. That, he decided, would come later. "Within this hour at most I will advise you where to plant yourselves; acquaint you with the perfect spy o' the time, the moment on't; for't must be done to-night, and something from the palace; always thought that I require a clearness: and with him—to leave no rubs nor botches in the work—Fleance his son, that keeps him company, whose absence is no less material to me than is his father's, must embrace the fate of that dark hour. Resolve yourselves apart: I'll come to you anon."

Jared wasn't even sure Jensen could make out his next words, but he delivered the line anyway. "We are resolved, my lord."

"I'll call upon you straight: abide within," Jensen's voice was ragged, his breath catching on every word, but he struggled gamely to the end. "It is concluded. Banquo, thy soul's flight, if it find heaven, must find it out to-night. Okay?"

That last part definitely wasn't in the original text, but Jared figured it was close enough. "You got it," he assured him, stroking one hand over Jensen's hip, petting his flank. Then he tugged on him until Jensen simply gave up and let himself slide down the wall to the floor, letting Jared straddle his hips. Jared moved up to capture his mouth in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth tangled together, his left hand moving back to continue jacking Jensen with quick, sure strokes.

Jensen hummed happily into the kiss, his own hands drifting to Jared's pants and fumbling with the button, easing the zipper past his erection with a great deal of care, which Jared couldn't help but appreciate.

"You too," Jensen murmured against his mouth.

"Considerate," Jared laughed, and felt Jensen shake a little with silent laughter of his own.

"Gotta show a little appreciation for such a good dialogue coach," he said, moving Jared's hand so he could wrap it around both their dicks, guiding his movements, urging him on. "God, been wanting to do this for—" he couldn't finish his sentence, his head falling back and his eyes slamming shut as Jared twisted his fingers as best he could.

Jensen came with a bitten-off moan as Jared buried his face in his collarbone, too far gone to even attempt coherent speech of any kind. Jensen didn't relinquish his grip on Jared's hand, kept moving in time with him, while the coiling pressure built until Jared was sure he couldn't bear it a second longer.

"Come on," Jensen encouraged him, then delicately sank his teeth into Jared's ear, and that was it.

Jared shook with the strain, spilling hot and fast over their hands, coloured spots dancing in front of his vision. Jensen laughed quietly, then shoved him unceremoniously to the side.

"That was fantastic, but you weigh a ton," he said apologetically, trying unsuccessfully to tug his pants back on.

Jensen looked utterly debauched, cheeks flushed, lips red from where he'd bitten at them, and there was an unmistakable stain on the hem of his t-shirt. Jared could only guess that he looked just as unkempt, his own mouth still tingling from before. He zipped up his jeans, then rolled to the side to kiss Jensen again.

"I think I can safely say that you know your lines, if you were able to remember them through all that."

"You think pretty highly of your skills," Jensen mocked, and Jared shrugged and grinned.

"I don't recall you complaining."

"True. So you think it'll be okay?"

"Absolutely. You'll kill it out there tomorrow. Come on, we'll go back to my place, have a drink, and finish this on a much more comfortable surface."

"Like your bed?" Jensen said hopefully.

"You guessed it. Oh, and Jensen?" Jared felt his grin grow wider when he saw it mirrored on Jensen's face. "Break a leg."

"That's just mean."

~*~

**EPILOGUE**

Jensen had been pacing for fifteen minutes now, so quickly that he was beginning to make even Jared feel dizzy. Finally Phil grabbed Jared by the shoulder and pulled him aside, his expression frantic. Jared was pretty sure he was missing even more hair.

"For God's sake, do something. You're the only one he listens to anymore. He's going to make himself sick, or ruin his makeup! Or both!"

Jared nodded, as though he had absolutely nothing else to do the night of a premiere than to hold the hand of the lead actor, no matter if he was cute and they were sleeping together. That should have been Phil's job, except now Phil was making it his job, and that was that. Still, the show must go on, and the show could not go on without Jensen. So he did what any self-respecting stage manager would do, manned up, walked over to where their resident Macbeth looked like he was about two seconds away from throwing up all over his costume, and kissed him soundly.

For a second Jensen almost jerked away, clearly taken by surprise, but when he figured out what was happening he relaxed into the kiss and even let Jared nudge a knee between his legs. When he was sure that Jensen was well and truly distracted he broke off the kiss, then swiped delicately at Jensen's lips with the pad of his thumb.

"Relax," he chided him. "You'll be fine."

"Christ," Jensen moaned, though Jared was pretty sure it had nothing to do with what Jared was doing and everything to do with the fact that the curtain had gone up four minutes ago. Jared should be up in his booth monitoring the cues and making sure Jenny didn't spill hot chocolate over the controls, but here he was instead. He'd have to sprint once Jensen was on stage, and hope for the best. "I have no idea what I'm doing. What if I suck? I barely got these lines memorized, and I keep getting the blocking wrong and—fuck!"

Jared kissed him again, a little faster. "You'll be fine, I promise. Even if you forget all your blocking, just find your light, wait for your cues, and the rest does itself. I promise."

To his surprise, Jensen looked a little sheepish. "Yeah, about that… what does that mean? Find your light? Everybody keeps telling me than, and I have no idea what it even means."

Jared threw back his head with a bark of laughter. "Oh my God, you poor bastard. You should have just asked, I would have told you."

Jensen scowled. "I'm asking now, okay? Screw you, not everybody was raised with knowledge of the theatre breastfed to them."

"Aw," Jared mocked gently, patting him on the shoulder. "It's simple. The lights are hot, so when you're standing out there, turn until you can feel the heat on your face, and that means you're being properly lit. That's all it means."

Out on the stage, the cry went up: "A drum, a drum! Macbeth doth come!"

Jensen blew out a breath. "Okay. Okay, I can do that."

Jared kissed him one last time. "Break a leg. If you get through without a mistake," he dropped his voice to a husky whisper that made Jensen shudder violently, "I promise you that we'll celebrate tonight in a way you'll never forget."

He gave Jensen a none-too-gentle shove toward the stage before taking off at a sprint towards his booth. Jenny rolled her eyes at him, handed him his headset, and then flipped him the bird as he dropped into his seat and flipped to the right page in his script.

"Really?" she mouthed, and he shrugged in an apology that they both knew wasn't particularly sincere.

He leaned forward as Jensen strode out onto the stage, cloak billowing out behind him as he moved. There was no trace now of his earlier awkward shyness, the anxiety that had threatened to make him empty his stomach backstage. Jensen was gone, replaced by Macbeth, newly appointed Thane of Cawdor.

"So fair and foul a day I have not seen!"

Jared let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He downed his hot chocolate—long since gone tepid—in a few swallows, and grinned at Jenny.

Jenny nodded back at him. "He's very good."

And when the curtain came down and the audience leapt to their feet with a roar of appreciation, Jared couldn't help but agree wholeheartedly. If all the world was a stage, he thought, quoting entirely the wrong play to himself, then he was definitely looking forward to the second act of this new play in which he'd found himself.


End file.
